


Of Finrod's Coming Upon Men

by losselen (zambla)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Edain, Gen, Poetry, Quatrains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zambla/pseuds/losselen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A telling of Finrod Felagund's discovering Bëor's men in Thargelion, in east Beleriand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canto I

_Of Finrod tarrying in Thargelion_

In Elder Days, in Beleriand  
under mountains tall and grey  
a wood there grew in eastern lands  
and in its eaves did Finrod stray.  
Unhorsed he wandered neath the trees  
and silent passed the walls of stone,  
while blossoms nodded in the breeze:  
in Thargelion, he walked alone.  
  
He walked among the grasses strewn  
with eglantines and daffodils,  
he walked beneath the Sun and Moon  
by emerald elms and running rills.  
For free and fair was land that he  
unbound by time had aimless walked  
as a dreamer come in reverie  
while foxes fled and robins talked.  
While nights relighted into dawn,  
the days fell yet on Finrod-king;  
though none he wore of silver wan  
nor flowing gold-work, save a ring  
of emerald-studded serpents twain,  
wrought of old by Elven-wights  
in Undying Lands, where grassy plains  
still rolled against the Evernight  
and dazzling Calacirya stands  
atop the circling Shadow Seas,  
unseen by men on mortal lands,  
where free was fen and wild were trees.  
For Finrod was an Elven lord,  
a king of old in days gone by,  
his mail was bright and sharp his sword,  
his realm of caverns under sky.  
In Nargothrond’s halls of stone,  
he reared his power in secret ways  
to allies hidden, to foes unknown,  
his realm was fair in Elder Days.  
  
With Elven-grace he lightly came  
amid a clearing amongst the trees,  
his raiment flashed a silver flame,  
his eyes as grave as surging seas.  
Unsounding soft did Finrod tread  
in meadows of shifting clover-grass,  
his singing voice had windless sped  
headlong, as clear as chiming glass.  
For long he walked in starry dell  
adrift in forest shimmering;  
his music like a water fell  
as silver dewdrops glimmering.  
  
A song he sang of Eldamar,  
of Valinor and Elven-strand,  
the mead that flows in lands afar  
where splendid Tirion-towers stand  
and countless fall the Elven-years  
the years that passed by ere the Moon  
or Sun did climb on heaven’s stairs  
to mark the hours of night or noon.  
A flicker of that blessed land  
enshrouded all, and distant roars  
did sound as if upon a strand  
as seldom heard on mortals shores.  
  
The night was long and Moon was clear,  
a wind there gathered under shade,  
it shivered on the silver mere  
and flew upon the grassy glade.  
So fair his song upon that air  
his voice a spell of wonder cast  
on living beasts who listened there,  
rejoicing as they swiftly passed.  
But beasts and finches were not all  
who tarried in that wildered wood  
where wandering long in larches tall  
Felagund beside the mountains stood.  
So power in his song revealed,  
and time itself did seem to still  
while birds listened, while stars wheeled  
and Finrod sang atop the hill.


	2. Canto II

_Of the waking of Men and their journey West_  
  
Before a time when neither world  
was formed, nor stars were made in sky,  
when naught there was but Song enfurled,  
a theme of splendor, soaring high:  
the Ainurs’ multifarious chords  
that filled the Void with world and sight,  
harmony shapened into words—  
from emptiness distilled the light,  
and out of nothing Arda formed  
from labours long and thoughts divined.  
So long ago when the Music stormed,  
and Song and World were yet entwined,  
the One did weave into its fold  
a secret Flame unquenchable  
and Children twain He made of old  
whose fates to Valar unknowable.  
From Music thus did World emerge,  
beyond the ken of Elves or Men,  
beyond the roaring of the surge,  
when naught was sky and field and fen.  
  
The Children who were made by he  
near unknown waterways did sleep,  
and first did wake the Elven three  
as stars alit in the Twilight’s deep.  
But now unmarked another woke  
beside the waking meadows, Men  
who wandered in the ancient oak  
that grew untroubled in its glen.  
  
They woke to the rising of the Sun,  
the last-borne fruit of Laurelin,  
that first in stalwart course did run  
upon the mortal day’s begin.  
And woodland Elves they met at times,  
the sundered folk of whom they learned  
a simple tongue and rustic rhymes  
made with lyres roughly formed.  
But guideless men unknowing tread  
the wayward forests of the east,  
that darkened were and gnarled with dread,  
beneath whose eaves they found but beast  
and Morgoth’s servants fell and cruel  
who hunted them like creatures wild.  
Above the shadow-haunted pool  
their hewn, despoiled bodies were piled  
in lowly mounds where carrions fed  
upon the corpses unburied long  
on plains of ruin, burnt and dead,  
and naught was fairness or of song.  
  
So wretched, they did westward seek  
for rumors simmered in their midst  
of Light that dwelt beyond the peak  
in West afar, though snow and mist  
lay thickly on the mountain caps  
‘twixt the East and surging Seas.  
They wandered without guide or maps,  
fleeing from cave to under trees.  
Of chieftains bold they had but few  
and many turned away, afraid,  
many perished in mountains blue,  
and many into the darkness strayed.  
And one such chief was Balan bold,  
who led them through passes filled with dread  
through blinding snow and endless cold  
by roads that few will ever tread.  
They journeyed by forgotten ways  
when Jewels were gone, and Trees did die,  
to Beleriand, in Elder Days,  
when Sun and Moon were new in sky.


End file.
